


Sleep While I Drive

by crna_macka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, F/F, Femslash February, Pre-Slash, trust me the world is ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crna_macka/pseuds/crna_macka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abby wasn't too keen on Missouri and Kansas even before everything went to hell, so the only thing lost by getting off the interstate is a straight and steady course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep While I Drive

**Author's Note:**

> 2\. Apocalypse/dystopian AU fill for the [28-day challenge](http://the-100-femslash.tumblr.com/post/109795013900/do-you-write-fics-do-you-love-the-100-are-you-a).
> 
> I might have to come back to this one.

I-70 turns into a shit-show somewhere around Indianapolis, so Abby skirts north until Route 32 takes her west again. The truck's radio crackles when she turns it on, checking her detour for dead zones. She would have had to leave 70 soon enough anyway; Saint Louis promises to be worse than anything between Ohio and the Mississippi. Abby wasn't too keen on Missouri and Kansas even before everything went to hell, so the only thing lost by getting off the interstate is a straight and steady course.

It starts to rain when she crosses into Illinois, and it starts to pour when abandoned cars force her off 136. It's the wind that convinces her to find a gas station to hole up in. She's not about to lose half her supplies and ruin the rest just to make better time. 

Abby knows she's gotten lucky when the small-town, middle-of-nowhere gas station also boasts a general store and garage attached. She parks next to the pumps and peers through the veil of rain to the yellow-white light beyond the store's glass door. If she sprints, she won't get soaked. So on the off-chance she can't stay inside, she at least won't be too uncomfortable in the cab. For good measure, she grabs the surplus jacket from the passenger seat and flips the collar up.

"Here goes," she says to herself before ducking her head and dashing for the door. 

The door isn't locked, and the bell heralds her entry to the empty store. The racks are in disarray, which hasn't been uncommon in Abby's pit-stops, but the eerie buzz of old fluorescents over silence is.

"Hello?" she ventures, tucking her hands in her pockets as a shiver of caution runs down her spine. 

There it is - not silence, a quiet _chuff_ behind the counter.

"Anyone here? I'm just looking to get out of the weather for a few minutes," Abby keeps talking, edging for an angle where she can see behind the counter without too much risk.

"I don't want any trouble," she adds, certain now that there is someone back there. Seems like a good bet, given the double-barrel shotgun on the floor. Someone _alive_ seems questionable, given that it's still on the floor. 

With a better view, she can see the young woman, see the blood where her head hit the back of the counter, see the stains on her clothes and skin. "Shit."

Instinct kicks in and she's crouched beside the slumped figure, checking vitals and keeping her voice hushed but calm. "Hey, it's okay, I'm here to help. My name is Abby, and I'm a doctor."

It sounds so canned, but the girl is starting to stir under her ministrations, and she doesn't want to scare her into injuring either of them.

"Stay still a sec. Can you tell me what happened?"

At first, it's nothing but a gravely groan in the back of the girl's throat as she winces and tries to turn away from Abby's touch. Then her cracked lips part and her mouth moves.

"Fuck off."

Abby smiles thinly and tilts the girl's chin upward. "Attagirl. Can you open your eyes? I just want to see if you have a concussion."

Pupil reaction is fine, but those dark eyes aren't happy to see her. The girl touches her bloody temple gingerly and seems more irritated than scared by what she finds. "College kids," she spits. "I'm fine, right?"

But a combination of blood slick and unsteadiness means Abby has to help her up. The girl is taller than she is, muscled and lean - in her twenties, maybe, Abby guesses. Young enough for bravado, old enough that the shotgun could legally be hers.

"Let's get something for your head," Abby says. As a gesture of good faith, she puts the gun on the counter and steps away.

* * *

Raven doesn't know why the woman stays. Something about the storm, then something about that concussion Raven thought the doc had already cleared. She doesn't mind the company, though. The woman is, if not harmless, then at least helpful. When Raven agrees to let her bring the truck inside the garage, they pull the tarp off together and the bed is full of neatly packed medical gear. More supplies than Raven can name.

Abby takes inventory as Raven leans against the tailgate, watching. "You raid a clinic or something?" she can't help asking, a little impressed with the haul. 

"It's not stealing if it's already mine," Abby says, glancing over her shoulder with what Raven thinks might be a smirk. "And I wouldn't have left if there was anyone still around to need it at home."

Raven nods her understanding. The plate, she notices, is Massachusetts. "Home" is surprisingly far, if the truck is Abby's, too. "Where you headed?"

"Colorado."

Raven's eyebrows shoot up. Abby, finished or not, pivots and picks her way out of the truck bed.

"My daughter was away at school when..." She gestures vaguely.

"When everything went to hell?" Raven finishes for her. Husband must've bit it somewhere in all this, Raven assumes; the ring on Abby's finger matches the pendant on her necklace. She knows better than to ask, though. "You taking the scenic route?"

"Something like that." Abby dusts her hands on her jeans and redirects. "Why are you on your own out here?"

"At the gas station-here, or middle of nowhere-here?" Raven shrugs. She checks that the garage is secure before they move back to the shop floor, using the adjoining side door instead of going back outside. "What makes you think I'm alone?"

Abby's laugh is dry and easy. It reminds Raven of clear summer days. Baseball. Walking home barefoot from the local pond. "Because I'm the one that cleaned you up, honey. And no one else has appeared."

"This is where I grew up. My family's here." Abby seems ready to say something disagreeable, so Raven cuts her off. "Dead, but whatever."

That closes the woman's mouth. There isn't any amount of pity in the way she regards Raven - empathy, maybe. But Raven can tell there is some sort of calculation going on in her head, too.

"So why are you still here?" Abby finally asks.

Raven turns away, gaze sweeping the chaos of the shelves and racks. She snorts softly at her own response and heads back to the counter. "Someone's got to keep stock for travelers and folks, right? Not everyone's a looter."

"Some of your visitors obviously are. You don't have anyone watching your back out here." The woman ventures closer but lets Raven have her space. She definitely knows how to manage a situation.

It's annoying, knowing she's being managed. "So what? Neither do you."

Managed by a stranger, she reminds herself. She lets a hand rest on the shotgun.

Abby doesn't flinch. "Exactly. We'd be safer together. Come with me."

So this is what she was being herded into?

"You don't know me," Raven warns. "I certainly don't know you."

The woman frowns and folds her arms over her chest. "I don't have anything to gain by having to split supplies with you," she says. "If I wanted something from you, I would have been better off leaving you on the floor."

"And on the flip side?" Raven hefts the weight of the gun, letting the barrel fall comfortingly against her other palm.

Abby doesn't budge. "I'd rather take the chance than assume the worst about you."

* * *

After some disagreement, they spend the night in the storage area where Raven has been living for the past couple weeks. In the morning they eat, clean themselves up, and load all of Raven's ammo plus whatever supplies might prove useful in the truck. When Raven's done grumbling about the lack of a bed cover, she tosses a wide sheet of plywood on top before securing the tarp over it, adds some items from the garage on top of that, and finally agrees it's time to go.

There are two tall, steaming cups of coffee in the holders and extra maps tucked between them. Abby's jacket and Raven's shotgun both lay across the bench behind them, close at hand while still at rest. 

The engine rumbles to life.

"Ready?" Abby asks.

The sidelong smile from the woman slouched against the passenger-side door makes the miles ahead more concrete than the lines on a map.

 _Trouble_ , her instincts warn her.

"For anything," Raven boasts, breaking into a grin as Abby shifts into gear.

 _Yeah, trouble_ , Abby thinks, echoing the grin. The kind of trouble she can live with.


End file.
